


Don't Let It Get You Up

by 1JettaPug, Gh0stFl0ra



Category: W.A.S.P. (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Drug Use, Gen, M/M, Rock Stars, Sick Character, homoerotic stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26564554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1JettaPug/pseuds/1JettaPug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gh0stFl0ra/pseuds/Gh0stFl0ra
Summary: It's another Dorian thing. Note, he isn't a character explicitly created for the WASP fandom.
Relationships: loose Blackie Lawless/Original Male character
Kudos: 1





	Don't Let It Get You Up

**Author's Note:**

> It's another Dorian thing. Note, he isn't a character explicitly created for the WASP fandom.

“Dorian... I know you were super sweet and bundled me up in a bunch of blankets and brought me soup and tissues, but I really have to go to the bathroom now...”  
"What? Man, already? But you need to rest. We only have three days before the next show."  
"Dorian, please?", Blackie glanced up at him, weak. The frontman sighed, and undid the blankets, before helping the other up. "Thanks, man", Blackie sneezed. The other man pat his shoulder lightly.  
"Can't believe you caught the Roadcrew Sickness, man." he sighed as he helped Blackie into the bathroom.

"I just can't believe our rooms connected, and you insisted on helping me not fuckin' die.." Blackie laughed, then coughed. "Fuck... I thought I beat that cough."  
"You have, but you just need to rest your voice. Speak softly."

"You're too nice for your own good", Blackie whispered, closing the door behind him. Dorian stood by, just in case he collapsed or something. It was the least he could do.  
He folded his arms, tapping out the drum beat to one of W.A.S.P.'s songs while Blackie took a piss. His eyes floated back to the frontman's bed and took it all in. The tissues, the orange juice stains in the bed, the crusted snot along the pillow covers. The room service people had to deal with this right now.

"Hey, Blackie, let's go to my room after this."  
"Why?"  
"Because I have a clean bed, and we can order room service."  
"Fine, just don't tell me you want sex out of it", Blackie sneezed, "Too sick, and not a gay". "What would make you think that?', Dorian snorted. "I've seen what you do with Gigi when you're drunk", Blackie shot back, turning the faucet on.

Dorian felt himself flush just a bit. "H- Hey, we're not fags either, but when the booze hits us just right... Y'know, we just get loose and want some nice attention and cuddles--"  
"I'm not judging, you idiot." Blackie laughed. "I'm just saying I'm too sick to deal with any shenanigans."

"Fine. No booze, no gay stuff." he agreed, unfolding his arms as Blackie turned of the faucet and toweled off his hands. "We can just be two straight guys rubbing dicks--"  
"Dorian."  
"I'm joking," he laughed, "C'mon. That sickness kill your sense of humor?"

"My brain feels like pudding, of course it's got to get rid of something", the W.A.S.P frontman replied, letting Dorian drag him into the other bed. Blackie turned to his side, placing the covers over his head like a hood. Dorian slipped in next to him, tissues at the ready.  
"Blackie, you'll suffocate, man. You need fresh air to breathe."

"Stop.. I can hardly breathe as is." Blackie whined, pathetically trying to tug at his covers as Dorian pulled them down. He blew into a tissue as soon as Dorian held one down to him.  
"You need more soup, and you need more snuggles."

"You and your damn snuggles."  
"You're freezing."  
"I'm fine, Dorian", Blackie grumbled, "just give me the other blanket, or some crap. ", he coughed. Dorian refused, cuddling up next to him. Blackie went quiet, mouth breathing.  
"Your hair smells great," Dorian smiled, burying his face into the two toned hair. "Did you redye it again?"  
"Just a bit..." Blackie grumbled, faintly. "Gotta keep the silver in there somehow.."  
"Tell me about it. Keeping half of this white is a pain with my roots always growing out."  
"Pray it never slows and gives out with how much hair dye you use, kid." Blackie said, finally giving him a smile.

"There's that smile", Dorian spoke quietly, "We spend so much on dye , between the four of us". Blackie added on to the statement, "Like Vanta's pink and green mop".  
"Yeah, especially his crazy raspberry crunch hair." Dorian laughed, gently patting his side. "I bet you haven't even see his natural hair color."  
"Can't say I have.."

"Well, I ain't telling. You'll have to keep a close eye on us to tell what our roots are."  
"Aren't I already keeping a pretty close eye on you little shits by bringing you on my tour?" Blackie asked with a grin. "I mean, for Pete's sake, your room is right next to mine."

"Eh, blame the manager for that", Dorian prodded, "and maybe you". Blackie rolled his eyes. "Kid, you have to blame me, then". The younger man shrugged, coming closer to Blackie.

"You know... I think you're finally warming up to me." Dorian sighed, brushing his nose against Blackie's neck. When the W.A.S.P. frontman didn't shove him away, he nuzzled him and made a content sound.  
"I trust you not to poison my food.."  
"Does that mean we're friends?"  
"That's as close as it'll get."  
"Sure, sure," But Dorian could sense his smile growing.  
"You know... I think you're finally warming up to me." Dorian sighed, brushing his nose against Blackie's neck. When the W.A.S.P. frontman didn't shove him away, he nuzzled him and made a content sound.  
  
"You're a weirdo, Dorian", Blackie coughed. "You say this as if you're not the so called 'manimal' ", the Nightbird frontman teased. "And you jump off 10 foot high platforms in the middle of solos", the older man croaked.  
"You're damn right, big daddy." Dorian chuckled, then laughed even harder as Blackie playfully shoved at him. "What?"  
"Call me big daddy anywhere outside these hotel rooms, and I will kick your ass." Blackie threatened him.

"How else will I address you when I order up pizzas for us?"  
"Literally anything else, kid", Blackie ate his words, as Dorian's grin creeped up, "Let me rephrase that, you little shit". Internally, he was smiling. "Fine, what do I call you, then?", Dorian cuddled up to him.  
"Call me Blackie... or Stephen." he said, ignoring the way those cute eyes kept staring at him. "Hey... I said no gay stuff while I'm sick..."  
"It's not gay to cuddle,"  
"God, I hope you catch what I have."  
"You don't mean that~"  
"...Fine. I don't, but get off my crotch. I need that."

"Saving it for the ladies?", Dorian removed himself, sitting up on his side of the bed, before fishing around in his pocket for something. Blackie noticed when he found it, and told him to wait a moment for him. The sick man flopped against the pillow, sneezing into another tissue.

Blackie would have smacked that shit out of his friend's hands if he had been well enough to. Drugs weren't his cup of tea, and he would damn well have gone and kicked Dorian in the crotch if he had the strength for it.

Dorian was unable to resist it, though. Cocaine. That perfect white powder. So pure and pretty, near crystalline, and so perfectly orderly when cut into lines with a straight edged razor.  
To him, there was no sight more beautiful than seeing that white powder in a heap on a black, shiny surface. It was just so calming to his wild mind to sit there and just divide the lines, some long and thin, others short and thick, all done with a clean, new, sharp, shiny, silver razor-blade.

In the bathroom, Dorian took a hand mirror from the drawer, and a blade from an old razor, before starting to cut the pristine white powder. The lines were skinny, and perfect. A dollar bill was rolled up, and shoved in a nostril, the other covered with a finger. He inhaled, the lines being sucked up.

Line after line disappeared into his nose, stinging, but a little pain was nothing compared to the bliss he was going to receive. But this time, there was more pain than usual.  
But even as the euphoric wave hit him, the stinging wouldn't go away. Dorian didn't care though, because this high was even better than his last. Then, his lips grew wet.  
A tentative lick tasted like copper.  
Blood.

A searching hand revealed that it was coming from his nose.  
"Shit", he yanked the bill out, stuffing a tissue in its place, "too much". The stinging kept up, as he returned to the room. Blackie glared at him, focus directed to the tissue. "It's fine".  
"It's not fine.."  
"It's totally fine! Don't worry about it." Dorian laughed, searching through his pockets again for a handkerchief. All he needed was something to plug himself up for a while, and he'd be fine. "I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine."  
"You're babbling already..."

"So, I babble, everyone babbles, hell, where did that come from, babbling?", Dorian laughed, finally finding a handkerchief. He plugged himself up, starting to ramble more and more. Blackie wanted to smack the younger man, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the drug, but Dorian was jittering in the bed now, and he wouldn't shut up. Blackie turned his back to him and growled when he touched him.  
"Hey, hey, let's order some room service? I could totally kill for a bitchin' pizza right now, man."  
"I need soup.."  
"Oh yeah! We'll get you soup."

"Dorian, I swear to god, I'm killing your dealer", Blackie grumbled. The younger one laughed, flopping on his side. Blackie wondered when this would be over.

Dorian was too twitchy, rubbing himself over. Blackie breathed out his exasperation, but it just reignited his focus. “I don't know why you don't wanna try it,” he said suddenly, and it took Dorian a full minute to stop his blathering long enough to give Blackie a funny look. The older man had shifted some during his speech and was holding a fist up.

"Calm the fuck down."  
He held his hands up, still jittery.  
It was enough for Blackie's hand to relax and go limp by his side again. "Order room service. Soup." He trusted Dorian with his care, but he hated trying to get the kid back on track when he did this shit.

Dorian nodded frantically, grabbing the phone and punching in the number for concierge. "Tribeca front desk, how may we help you?", the woman on the other end asked. "You guys mind sending up soup to room 43?", Dorian asked, only to be smacked lightly by Blackie. "Specific".

Yeah, uh, chicken soup. And maybe some crackers and breadsticks." Dorian wrapped his fingers in the cord, smiling back down at Blackie who rolled his eyes.  
"You can eat the fucking breadsticks..." he wasn't sure if he could even stomach the soup at this rate. He was feeling better, but he just needed another day of rest and no shenanigans.  
"Oh, yeah, as soon as you can, thanks." Dorian said, putting the phone down. "It'll be like five minutes."

"Great, great", he rolled over on his side again. Dorian poked Blackie's side, receiving an exasperated groan. "Dorian, you're high," he snapped. "No, I'm sexy", the younger of the two giggled.  
Honestly, Blackie couldn't tell if that was the drugs or his normal response. As long as he didn't get hard and start humping him, though, Blackie could withstand it. All Dorian mostly did was wriggle around, laugh and start singing to him. It wasn't even off-key.

Blackie had almost fallen asleep again, while Dorian pet his hair, when there was a knock at the door.  
"Ooh! Food time!"  
The staff member was disconcerted by the obvious bloody handkerchief, but handed over the food anyways. Dorian set the tray on the nightstand, setting the lamp on the floor. Blackie took the spoon, and placed the tray on his lap, noticing Dorian's blown out pupils.

They looked as wide as any excited cat he had ever seen. This wasn't cute to him, though, and he wasn't some kitten high on some harmless nip. When he was sober, they would have a talk. He couldn't do another month with the kid going out on stage like he ate powdered donuts.

As Blackie sipped at his soup, humming and scrunching his face as he thought, Dorian sighed and knelt down beside the bed. The feeling in his limbs fully began to wash away, and was replaced with a light, airy numbness, as his heart raced against his sternum. Dorian turned to Blackie and looked at him with slightly blurred vision, winking deviously.  
“What are you looking at, princess?"  
Princess.  
The term of “endearment” sounded ridiculous to Dorian’s ears. He let out a high pitched giggle and clapped his hands together. “Princess! You're a riot! Am I gonna get a crown before the next show?"

Blackie grimaced, "Go make yourself one or something. I should probably make sure you don't cut yourself, though". Dorian laughed again, turning so his head was facing the window. "Blackie, you're fun", he shook his head.

"Am I now...? Even when I've thrown up and sneezed on you?"  
"Sure," Dorian said with a smile, tongue sticking out from between his teeth. “I love your music, man, and I love hanging around you. I don't do stupid shit around you.”  
"Doing coke isn't stupid shit?” Blackie asked as he reached down and tugged Dorian up. That smile of his only widened as he felt Blackie pat his cheek. He melted into his touch and whined when he was pushed back.

"C'mon, what's wrong?", The younger man pouted, "Don't act like Vanta, now". Blackie raised an eyebrow. "What does Vanta do?", he returned to pat Dorian's cheek.  
"Mmhm, gets high with us and acts all sweet and nice. We used to cuddle together when we got burnt out... he acted alright until he decided he was gonna shove us around. Teasin' ain't pleasin' to me." Dorian sighed, blathering on without realizing it.  
"I... get that. I used to kinda do that to a... friend... Nikki's his name. Hated it when he did shit like this, too."  
"That why you hate it?"

"I get it man. I need love, not bein' pushed around", Dorian admitted. Blackie nodded, taking another spoonful of soup. "That's why I ran away, y'know", the high frontman confessed, "Mom always wanted another beer, Dad, another game of poker".

"Wouldn't know what to say for that." Blackie sighed, "Grew up decently. Seems like I'm a fucking rarity in comparison to most of us."  
"Mm, you're just lucky, I guess.."  
"Luck ain't got shit to do with it... We have to make the best out of any mess if we want to live and be free."

"Guess you're feeling better if I'm getting a speech."  
Blackie smiled, Dorian staring out the window. "Ever think about how it's gonna be thirty years from now?", he asked, leaning his head onto the blanket. "What are you talking about?", the older man asked. "Like, will we still be doing music, or will some cosmic nonsense force us into accounting or some shit?"

"...Accounting? Really? I don't think I've ever seen you do math before." Blackie gave him another small smile. "Jeez, like the two of us would ever get out of this game."  
"Game?"  
"The music business is just some sick game... We're artists, but we're also puppets."  
"That's deep. Fuck, and you didn't even take any drugs, man."  
"Maybe it's the sickness finally taking over." Blackie gave a soft chuckle, "Or maybe I'm messed up enough to not need fuckin' drugs."

"I can attest to that, raw meat and all", Dorian sprawled out on the floor. Blackie offered him a breadstick, which he took. "Ever thought about how we seem so in synch?". "Not really, kid". The Nightbird frontman took a bite, "Haven't eaten breakfast, or lunch". "That's a girly thing, isn't it?", Blackie set the bowl on the nightstand.

"Just didn't feel like eating.." Dorian ignored the way Blackie kept poking the top of his head with another breadstick. "Ain't got nothing to do with the powder."  
"Defensive," Blackie murmured, letting the bread drop down into his lap. He licked the garlic butter off his fingers with a wet pop. "You'd look good if you ate a bit more. You wouldn't look like you were about to pass out at the end of a show. Or is that just the drugs making it seem like that?"

"Probably just the drugs, " Dorian played with the black side of his hair. "Besides, the fans want us like this, or something". Blackie shook his head, taking a bite of bread. "Dorian, you make great music, I'm sure they could stomach you not looking like you'd drop dead". The younger one laughed.

"Youuuu don't know our manager and his bosses, then. They treat us like chicks in this business, because if we don't stand out but also behave, then we're done. What's another rock band? There's a million of us..." Dorian sighed, sounding a bit defeated, but in a moment, his pitch quickly perked again. "But yeah. I just wanna make the fans happy and proud, man. I don't mind, honest."

Blackie grunted, staring at his empty soup bowl. To him, it was pathetically funny how much stress a happy-go-lucky guy like this could be fighting the fucking assholes of the music world, as well.  
"Look kid, I know it's difficult. Just try to keep yourself safe. That's all I'm asking", Blackie spoke as Dorian finished up the breadstick. "Aw, you do care about me". The older man scowled, but couldn't argue. He did, deep down somewhere.

"Just get back up here and don't fucking babble in my ear." Dorian's face lit up, and he jumped back on the bed. He sighed, head dropping against Blackie’s shoulder as he held the younger man close.  
Dorian smiled, legs twitching as he sluggishly moved himself into a more comfortable position. He settled with heavily leaning against Blackie’s chest. He could hear his thundering heartbeat right against his ear and smiled, ready to just daydream and think up new tunes in his head.  
“Will we keep in contact 30 years from now?” he mumbled hoarsely, sleepily, and felt Blackie press a tender kiss to the crown of his head.

“God only knows.” Came the soft, gruff reply. “Now shut the fuck up.”  
He was all too happy to obey Blackie’s command, just humming and drifting in and out of reality without bothering him too much.  
Blackie pressed his cheek against Dorian’s two-toned hair, his breathing beginning to slow. His fingers trailed lightly over the bare skin of his chest, scratching him like a pet. His limbs felt like jello but there was no way he was letting go of the kid. He shut his eyes and let himself drift off as Dorian began to sing the opening notes of a new song.

"Only tell me when you're here, 'cause you're my summer drug, you'll be gone when we start to fall~", he sang, slowly watching Blackie.  
The W.A.S.P. frontman slumped back against his pillow, slowly going limp. His face relaxed and softened, and Dorian grinned when he heard him snore.  
"See... Told you that you're getting better~"


End file.
